


Washing Your Troubles Away

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya discovers that Napoleon has a bad habit - he sings in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Washing Your Troubles Away

 

 

At times like this, it was just him and the water.  He tilted his head back, eyes closed in sheer bliss.  He smiled as the water patted against his skin, so comforting, so inviting, like the touch of a cherished lover.  That made other things… happy, so much so that he suddenly burst into song.

 

_Volare, oh oh, e contare, oh oh oh oh_

_Nel blu, dipinto di blu, felice di stare lassu_

_E volavo, volavo felice piu in alto del sole ed ancora piu su_

_Mentre il mondo pian piano spariva lontano laggiu_

_Una musica dolce suonava soltanto per me_

_Volare, oh oh, e cantare, oh oh oh oh_

_No wonder my happy heart sings, your love has given me wings_

_Nel blu, dipinto di blu, felice di stare lassu._

Last night had been good, better than good.  He’d honestly thought that he’d experienced the best that love had to offer, but one night of shared bliss with a certain blond had rewritten everything in his book… hell, his life.  Suddenly everything was right and made sense to him.

 

He shifted around so that the water splattered against his shoulders, a wet and warm massage so much like Illya’s very talented… 

 

_Fill my heart with song  
And let me sing for ever more   
You are all I long for   
All I worship and adore   
In other words, please be true   
In other words, I love you_

 

He laughed in sheer bliss.  God, he felt good.  Then the shower curtain pulled back and he was looking at his blue eyed blond.

 

“Napoleon, it sounds as if a cat is being strangled in here.”

 

“You’re just jealous.”

 

“Of the fact that you are taking all the hot water, yes I am.  Of your singing, think again, my friend.”

 

Napoleon reached for him, his skin slick and slippery against Illya’s neck.  “Tell me you don’t feel like singing today.”  He pulled him close and felt Illya struggle to keep his balance.

 

“I feel like doing a great many things, one of which would be getting to work on time,” Illya said, but Napoleon noticed that he’d stopped fighting against the embrace and was, in fact leaning into it. 

 

Napoleon started to croon,

 

_Some enchanted evening  
You may see a stranger,  
you may see a stranger  
Across a crowded room  
And somehow you know,_

 

“Please, Napoleon, I beg you, if you do have any affection in your heart for me, stop singing.”

 

“I can’t help it, t _ovarish_.  You make me want to sing.”

 

“What will make you want to not…”  Illya glanced down and smiled shyly.  “Want to sing…?”

 

They were very late to work that morning.

 

                                                                                ****

 

Illya’s shower paled in comparison to Napoleon’s.  It was small and in a free standing tub.  However, the water pressure was good and Napoleon’s heart was close to bursting with happiness.

 

_When the moon hits your eye like a big-a pizza pie  
That's amore!  
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine  
That's amore!_

“Napoleon!”  Illya half shouted, half hissed his name and he paused in his singing.

 

“Yes, Illya.”

 

“I have neighbors and very thin walls.”

 

“I’m sorry.”  Napoleon tried to make his apology sound sincere, but Illya looked so wonderfully disheveled, especially with the hickey on the base of his throat.  He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the rumbling that Illya had made, the way he arched and gasped in Napoleon’s arms and Napoleon couldn’t help but sing.

_Love is a many-splendored thing,  
It's the April rose that only grows in the early spring,  
Love is nature's way of giving a reason to be living,  
The golden crown that makes a man a king.  
Once on a high and windy hill,  
In the morning mist two lovers kissed and the world stood still,  
Then your fingers touched my silent heart and taught it how to sing,  
Yes, true love's a many-splendored thing._

He stopped and grinned at his partner, arms spread wide, as if awaiting applause, or lacking that, some small token of esteem from his partner.

 

“You are going to get me evicted, Napoleon.”

 

“Then you can come and live with me.”  He tipped his head back to start to sing again, but he found himself being dragged from the bathtub to the bathroom floor and they were even later that morning… and Illya had to wear a turtleneck.

 

                                                                                ****

 

Napoleon was nervous.  He glanced over at the table a dozen times, making sure everything was set right.  He’d checked and rechecked the living and bed rooms.  Illya had been gone for a month, a long dry month, during which Napoleon found very little to sing about.  He tried the first couple of mornings, hoping beyond hope that the curtain would pull back and his favorite pair of blue eyes would be beseeching him for silence.  It hadn’t worked and after that, he stopped singing.

 

Now Illya was on his way… in fact another hour and his plane would be landing.  He’d go to headquarters to be debriefed, then on to meet up with Napoleon.  They had made all the plans, everything, down to the thread count on the sheets, had been discussed.  Everything was ready, all Napoleon needed now was one blond Russian.

 

Right then and there, he decided a shower was in order.  He grinned and quickly stripped, arranging his clothes neatly on the bed.

 

He started the water, tested it, then ducked in under the stream.  As was his wont, he tipped his head back and,

 

_All of me,_

_why not take all of me,?_

_Can’t you see, I’m no good without you._

_Take my lips, I want to lose them,_

_Take my arms, I’ll never use them…_

Napoleon trailed off when he spotted something on the wall.  At first, he thought it was a tiny insect and his inner neatness cried out.  He squinted, shut off the water and his eyes grew wide when he recognized the microphone, a proto-type the lab boys had been bragging about for the last month.

 

He pried it free and turned it over in his hand.  “What the hell…?”  There was only one reason why that was in his shower and there was only one person who would have had the opportunity to plant it.

 

 

                                                                                ****

 

He was still sitting in his robe when there came a familiar knock on his door.  He didn’t move from the couch, not even when the knock repeated and then the sound of a key in the lock followed.

 

Illya came rushing in, looking concerned… “NAP… oh, didn’t you hear me knock?”  Napoleon just looked at him, eyes narrowed.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“This.”  Napoleon held up the mic.  “This is what’s wrong.  You want to explain how this got into my shower?”

 

Illya smiled, his face working for the appropriate expression.  “You found it.”

 

“I sure as hell found it.  What were you planning to do, Kuryakin?  Play it at our next staff meeting?  Or in the locker room?  Let everyone have a big chuckle over the fool Napoleon Solo was making of himself?”

 

“What?  No, of course not.  You wound me to even think that.”

 

“Then I want an explanation and you have about thirty seconds before I toss you out of here and out of my life.”

 

Illya closed the door behind him and walked quickly to where Napoleon was sitting, fists clenching and unclenching in anger.

 

“You are barking up the wrong fence entirely.”

 

“Tree, you bark up a tree… twenty seconds.”

 

“I did it… because… this is embarrassing…”

 

“Ten seconds…”

 

“Because I miss hearing you sing in the mornings.  So I was making some recordings to have with me when we didn’t spend the night together.  I meant to pull the mic before I left, but I got dragged out of here pretty fast and didn’t have the chance.”  Illya knelt before Napoleon and settled a hand over one of Napoleon’s.  “Napoleon, why would I want to humiliate you?  I love you.”

 

“You… say it again.”

 

“I love you.”  Illya turned Napoleon’s hand over to kiss the palm.  “Even when you make my ears bleed with your caterwauling or steal all the blankets or even selfishly protect your French fries from me, I love you.”

 

“Prove it.”  The smile was just the slightest curve to his lips.

 

“Sing to me.”

 

 

Volaire  written by Domenico Modugno (music and lyrics) and Francl Migliacci (lyrics)

Fly Me to the Moon by Bart Howard (music and lyrics)

That’s Amore by Jack Brooks (lyrics) and Harry Warren (music)

Some Enchanted Evening by Oscar HammerstienII (lyrics) and Richard Rodgers (music)

Love’s a Many Splendid Thing by Paul Francis Webster(lyrics) and Sammy Fain (music)

All of Me by Gerald Marks and Seymour Simons((lyrics & music)

 

 


End file.
